


Black Light

by beckling



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:58:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckling/pseuds/beckling
Summary: They'd destroyed each other without even knowing it. But maybe at the end of darkness there is some light.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [37h4n0l](https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/gifts).



The two had found shelter in a seemingly empty warehouse a few meters away from where the shooting was taking place. The sound of the shots being fired was deafening and it almost made Nero forget that he was drowning in his own blood.  
  
Avilio had to lug him to a safe spot. Just a few steps from the entrance, he’d found it, and tried to rest Nero’s limp body behind a pile of crates, as a sort of potential shield.

It was a mess.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Avilio finally shouted, in a way that was so unfamiliar to him. For some reason, he was genuinely angry.

Nero coughed up some blood, but kept trying to stand up propped on his elbows.

“You know why, I–I told you. I just don’t want to see a friend die, is all.”

Those were his words. ‘A friend’. In the desperation of the moment, Avilio almost felt like laughing. The situation was too absurd to handle—too much. Nero, his soon-to-be victim, had just risked his life for him, and now he was calling him a ‘friend’. Even at a time like this, he tried to keep the principled act up. If he died now, not only the scenario he’d envisioned—kiling Nero to complete his revenge, before anyone else could even try to interfere—would utterly fail, but his death would be seen as a ‘friendly’ sacrifice. Everything Avilio had done would’ve been pointless. Nothing worse than that could ever happen. Being left alive by his own enemy, _again._

 _Friend._ He didn't want to hear that word coming from Nero, but he knew it was gonna come up again many times until this charade continued.

Looking at him now, he reminded him of a dying beggar he’d robbed once. It wasn’t his intention to stab him, that time, but the beggar had assaulted him and left him with no choice. After prevailing, Avilio had taken every last penny the miserable wreck had on him. It wasn’t even that much money, so why was he doing this? A faint sting of guilt had crossed him then, but in no way as strong as he felt it now. Why? Why? Why?  
  
Again, Nero reminded him of other things—in that surreal position, in that surreal way of acting, of staring at someone like _Nero_ die just under his eyes, Avilio’s fantasy was running wild. Right then, Nero just about looked like an oblivious sacrificial animal that had just jumped into the fire on its own, right under its executor’s hands. Pity mixed with anger, fear, gratitude, uncertainty and then _guilt_ , guilt, unnecessary guilt… it made a surging knot in his stomach that called for his tears. No, he couldn’t succumb to that now. After all, after all... Nero  _wasn’t_ innocent.

He was there, when his family was killed. The letter clearly stated that he had a part in it.  He couldn’t—he couldn’t—forget that.

But that old irrational guilt wouldn’t leave him. It always stayed there, like a black dirty fog around his heart. The irony of being the one experiencing this was just enough to make him nauseous, for a bit. Throughout his detestable life, this kept on happening on loop: no matter how much he had to suffer at the hands of others, he also had to be the one to shoulder all the world’s guilt. And he hated it. That’s why he didn’t care anymore if his actions were righteous or not. There was no connection between his pain and his guilt anymore—it didn’t mean anything, so he could do what he wanted.

“I’m fine…” Nero crumpled up on one side, and kept mumbling, “I’m fine…”

  
Avilio kneeled beside him to clean his mouth with a piece of cloth, holding his head up. “You’re definitely not…” The doors had just shut on their own behind them, and numerous crates and heavy machinery gave them coverage.

  
‘What now?’ A fast thought crossed Avilio. ‘Chances are I’ll have to do it here.’ He glanced at Nero, who was fidgeting and wheezing next to him. Avilio proceeded to push the cloth onto his bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Nero winced.

  
‘Then again... The Galassias are coming for us…  No one will know that it was me who finished him off.’  
  
He took a moment to consider it. Consider if it was really worth it, if it was really the way he wanted to do it, and the best timing. He could’ve just suffocate him with that same cloth he’d been using to save him. He could even just shoot him, and no one would realize it was him who did it. As he mechanically ripped a piece of his own shirt to use it at bandage—rather weird, to think of murder methods while medicating someone—it all came to him rather quickly, and Avilio came to a definite and irrevocable decision. It wasn’t the right time. It wasn’t, because it didn’t feel right.

Before he could even question himself on what ‘right’ was supposed to be, Nero suddenly exclaimed:

“Dammit, I can’t take it anymore!” From his mouth, blood kept spilled along with saliva. “Avilio, please, _please_ , give me some whiskey! I beg of you!” He clenched his fist onto Avilio’s shirt, with a desperate and begging look that Avilio had never seen on him. Nero probably had just realized he was going to die.  
  
Avilio moved away from him, shocked for a second, then impulsively took a tiny vial out of his left pocket and quickly gave it to him. Nero snatched it from his hand. He chugged on it, and when it was completely empty he handed it over to Avilio.

  
“...Thanks.” He managed to blurt out, before collapsing again. “I–I’m sorry I showed you that. I wasn’t really… scared, I wasn’t. I’m all better now.”

  
The two stayed silent for a while. Intense fighting outside the warehouse was getting alarmingly close.

  
Avilio nervously started talking, without even wanting to. “You really shouldn’t have done this… You could’ve saved yourself.” His words were more of an unintelligible mumble than a clear statement.

  
“Aren’t you even going to say ‘thank you’ to me? _You_ would’ve taken the shot, if I hadn’t done this...” Nero almost laughed.

  
Avilio brought up his gaze, confused, then lowered it again.  
  
“Heh, you know, Avilio… I’ve never wanted to say this but…” Nero paused to gasp for some more air, “I wish you and I had never met each other at all.”

  
“...What?”

“I mean, not like this,” he struggled to correct himself. “I wish…we could’ve met… in a different way, in a different place, maybe even a different _time.._.”  
  
“You’re rambling. You should just stay quiet.”  
  
Nero ignored him and forced himself to continue, as if those were his last words.

“I never got a chance to get out of … this. My family’s my family, you know. I have to protect it.” Nero's eyes quickly looked at everything, like he didn’t want to miss a thing of his last moments. They finally landed on Avilio’s eyes, and stayed fixed on them. “But, you’re a good man, Avilio, I know this. And, you’re a part of this family, too… So I wish that it just... hadn’t to be like this.”

“Stop talking like that. You’re not going to die.” Avilio finished bandaging the ugly shotgun wound that had taken Nero’s hip. He was more terrified by what Nero had just been saying than the situation they were in.  
  
“If you feel so sorry about all of this, then maybe you shouldn’t have saved my life.”

Nero continued to stare at him fiercely, putting all his energies in it despite Avilio wasn’t reciprocating the look. Finally, he simply replied:  
  
“Who knows, maybe you’re right.”

At that point, a loud noise startled the both of them; then a growling voice shouted from the back of the barn, as they barged into the door.

“What are you two doing here? The Galassias are cornering us! Get up! Hey…” Whoever that was, they stopped and their voice died in their throat. “What is-- Shit! Nero’s been wounded!?”

Luckily it was one of theirs. With a strong tug, Avilio fasted the bandage one last time and hurried on his feet.

“Ugh… what have they done to you, Nero…?” the young lackey commented, appalled at the blood still oozing out Nero’s bandages and staining most of his clothes. Quickly, he ran to help Avilio lift Nero up. He then guided the other two towards the exit, wielding his pistol around a bit too gallantly.“Follow me!” he shouted, “We have back up, so Nero’s safe! I won’t let anything happen to you, boss!”

“I-I’m not your boss, but thanks…” Nero weakly replied, trying his best to sound alert and his usual self.  
  
“Since we’re in this situation, I can tell you frankly, Nero! The reason we all joined the family and found a place to be in the world is only because of you! So to me and the others, you’re the true boss!” He smirked, as they dragged Nero away,then eyed at Avilio from under Nero’s armpit. “Isn’t that right, Avilio?”

Outside, a car was already waiting. Barbero on the steering wheel had already opened a door for Nero to enter.

As they ran towards it, the Galassias spotted them right away. The three of them tried their best to reach the car as fast as possible despite Nero being barely able to move his legs. Gunshots were flying more intensily to their trajectory: one came so horribly close that Avilio was sure he'd been hit. Still half-deaf from the shock, he almost waited for his knees to give out and the agony to kick in. Instead, a weight dropped on his left. Just in time to turn his neck a little, he'd caught glimpse of the figure falling to the ground. The gunfire was too intense to stop and check, but Avilio had to make sure. Through the confusion and terror, he’d believed that Nero had been hit again. An inexplicable relief passed him when he realized it was the lackey who had been shot.

“Leave him be! Hurry up, Avilio!” Barbero was infuriated. Avilio had never seen him so angry.

As he strenuously nodded under the increased weight of Nero’s body and hurried forward, something tugged at his leg. The nameless underling who’d been so loyal to Nero was still struggling to stay alive and begged to stop for him. From his mouth, a pool of blood was beginning to gurgle up, mixed with a desperate whisper: “...Please take me with you”.  
  
Avilio wished he’d gone deaf inside all that hell. Instead, he’d heard that barely audible sound. His young, _far too young_ face, framed by blonde hair and stained by blood - it had suddenly triggered a violent, horrible memory in Avilio _._ Instinctively horrified, he shoved off the boy —almost kicking him away.

Finally Avilio was able to throw Nero inside the car, and then tuck himself in; at that moment Barbero departed without even waiting for him to close the door, so that Avilio had to expose himself to more bullets before catching back the handle.

“Is Nero alright?”

“More or less. I did what I could but he needs a doctor. He… took a gunshot for me.”

“Ugh…” Nero wanted to say his usual 'I’m fine’, but his inability to articulate words was a giveaway of his actual condition.

“That doesn’t sound good. Do you have any medical experience, Avilio?” Barbero’s suspicious eyes darted back at him from the rearview mirror. Avilio didn’t reply. “When we’ll get to somewhere safe, I’ll stop and check.”

While talking, Barbero drove recklessly to avoid the bullets. Avilio thought they were gonna crash or flip over at any minute, but thankfully Barbero’s skills were enough to chase the Galassias off.

After a few miles of steady driving on calm countryside roads, Barbero had stopped to check on Nero, and had to half-heartedly compliment Avilio for the preciseness of his bandages. He then gave Nero some painkillers and after quite some time Nero found the strength to speak again.

“Whatever happened to that... boy? Johnny, I think his name was… at some point he… let go of my hand.”

Those words brought shivers up Avilio’s spine, breaking him off from the trance he’d fallen in, as he stared out the window to the countryside, thinking nothing, and with Nero’s heavy legs resting on his lap.

_Let go… of my hand. Don't let go… of my hand._

Those words…  
  
Avilio brushed off the thought and didn’t reply.

Barbero stepped in, harshly cutting Nero off. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Just stay put and try to sleep.”

“I can’t do that right now. I need to know... Come on, Barbero, Avilio, tell me what happened to him! Did he…”

“Barbero is right. You should rest, Nero.”

As always, Nero never listened to anyone, especially to Avilio.  
  
“That boy… Why…? He was always so bright and cheerful… Why…? Why did he let go of my hand?” Unwittingly, Nero was slipping off into unconsciousness again. The rocking of the car onto that bumpy road made his head dizzy.

Avilio was beginning to lose his composure. His blood boiled, his throat clenched, and his whole body felt like puking rage. Hearing words like that from Nero’s mouth was driving him crazy. _Bright and cheerful… Bright… Bright..._

_Why...did he let go of my hand?_

“Because he got shot and died, Nero. That’s all. Now stop thinking about it.” Barbero coldly stated, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

Nero seemed to nod, and with his last bit of self-realization, he tried to catch Avilio’s attention—who was now trying his best to avoid him—and pointed to his wound. “Hey Avilio… did you do this to me?”

Avilio’s eyes widened unnoticeably. Why say something like that, at the highest of his restlessness and paranoia? Why did those sly, half-closed eyes… seem so knowing, always? Was he referring to the wound or the bandage? Why wasn’t he specifying? Why, why, why?

Avilio gulped. “Yeah, I was the one who bandaged you.”

“Good. Then I have to thank you…”

 _No you don’t…_ Avilio automatically added in thought.

“Can you even remember what happened…?”

Nero shook his head. Apparently he coudn't.

Barbero gradually slowed down the car, realizing the bumps were disturbing Nero, and said to Avilio:  
  
“We’re very close to the clinic, but I’m worried about Nero’s condition—with that much blood loss he’ll start going delirious sooner or later. We need him to keep grasp with reality. You need to keep him awake. Hold his hand and talk to him. Got that?”

Avilio reluctantly agreed, and clasped Nero’s limp hand.

“Avilio… you won’t let go of _my_ hand, right?” A small smirk of delirium, an innocent one. It didn’t mean or know or threat anything. The same drunken childish smile weak beggars have sometimes. But on Nero’s face, after those words, it could only mean something horrible.  
  
Avilio had never hated him so much.

Did he really want a reply? Was he waiting? How could Avilio give him one? How could anyone in the universe ask him _that_ and then expect one? There, at that moment, in that car, in that world?

_Don’t let go of my hand._

Luce hadn't listened nor replied when _he_ had asked. He’d let go, he’d let go, he’d let go... Or maybe, maybe, maybe, it was _Avilio_ who hadn't held it strong enough; had he been the one to let go all along? The one to allow it? Now, Avilio really couldn't… remember; impossible, impossible to remember.

Guilt? Guilt? Guilt? Now? Why now? Why _him_?

Nero wanted a reply. A reply for everything, maybe. He wanted him to spill it. He always wanted to talk to Avilio, know his opinion, with those knowing eyes...  
  
This was inevitable, and Avilio knew it—getting so close to him would have entailed to this eventually, too.

 _Come on say it, Avilio, have the guts. If he wants to know, if he wants the answers, then I'll say it.That boy was just another one of your victims, Nero… Just like Luce, just like me, just like so many others you don’t even know of. You’ll always repeat your sins until someone comes to take you out_.

“Nero…” He’d never said that name with more hatred. _Your name means ‘black’. You know that? Black. Black is all I can see, when I look, think, talk to you… It’s all my life looks like ever since...ever since..._

“If only you knew…” He muttered, so low that not even Barbero’s ever-alert ears could catch it. Avilio watched Nero’s gut and wished he’d been the one to shoot. He wished he could stick his rusty pocket knife right in the wound he'd just fixed, twist it and twist it and twist it the right way, the way it should be, for all the times he felt like a murderer even when he wasn’t. _He wasn’t. Nero was the one, the one who murdered._

But Nero was drifting away and in the first place, he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, not everything. And especially not from him. He only had to…  
  
Die. The only thing this whole charade for. So that Nero could die.

With the same barely audible tone, he quoted the very words that Nero, now unconscious, had said to him just some minutes ago:  
 

“I wish you and I had never met each other at all.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

1921  
  
Corteo simply gets up, grabs the little bedside lamp and sits next to him, while Mother goes to prepare some camomille. It’s their ritual, now.  
  
He tries to soothe him, first rubbing a hand on his back, then embracing him tight to keep him from trembling, but it’s no use.  
  
Mother and Corteo don’t have much money or food to spend for themselves, but there’s no way—so Mother had said—no way that they could turn their backs on Avilio, not after all his family had done for the two of them, and after all that Avilio had been through.  
  
Corteo agreed: after all, Avilio was also his only friend.  
  
But on the small squeaky cot set out for him—so different from the soft mattress on wooden bars he was used to sleep on with Luce—nights had been tough ever since his first night. Corteo didn’t care as much for losing his own sleep as he worried for Avilio’s worsening condition.  
  
This time, like all others, he hands him the camomile and sleepily asks if it's that dream again. Of course it is, it's never anything else. But asking is also part of the ritual, and Avilio talking about it for a short while to cool down, too.  
  
The only reason Avilio had even miraculously arrived at Corteo’s place was that he’d seen a light. Through it all, despite being lost in the woods after his house had been set on fire, and despite having nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep, Avilio had stopped caring. All that dragged him and attracted him to that humble shack was a light, and that strange, strange warmth radiating from it. It gave him weird memories—brought him back to reality, even.  
  
He'd searched for a light in the dark. Even if that light reminded him of everything turning to fire, everything going to ashes, even if it reminded him of _Luce_ \- or maybe because of it - he felt compelled to go back to it.   
  
And so he did.  
  
Something deep inside told him that if he’d turned his eyes away from light again, he’d never see it for the rest of his life. Like an ever-long, ever-extending winter of unendurable loneliness and cold, dark and with no meaning.  
  
The first time he put his head on that meager cushion, still wearing tattered clothes, rest came to Avilio like some sort of deathly relief. But from that day forward, he knew he was progressively dying. With that, also his dreams had started thwarping, his cozy easiness being ripped away from him bit by bit. It had started to die, too, just like his family, his everything, had.   
  
That's only when the nightmares began.  
  
He was just a ten year boy, but he never changed from that day on. No growth, no going back: a fixed picture in time, even as his body shaped itself differently, even as faintly better moments came back thanks to Corteo’s comfort, even as experiences and new memories formed, Avilio never changed, never knew a way to move forward. Even as that light had brought him back to the living from a world of ghosts, the obscurity in his heart had started dimming that light and making it only an omen of revenge. He'd seen the light of the humans again not to be sheltered by it, but to bring the blood and the pain to perfect shape once again.  
  
“Corteo… I’m gonna find them. Someday, I will,” he’d say, over and over again, every time he woke up with tears too bitter to be a child’s. “I gotta… I gotta know… I have to find out…They won't escape from me...” Corteo would continue to rub his back, trying to calm him down, sway him, make him smile, forget, but in those moments after reliving the horror, Avilio was never with him.  
  
“I will… I will find them… one day, _for sure_.”

**Author's Note:**

> this might be the proof that i'm unable to write longfics but ,,heh


End file.
